


Fate

by wbss21



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki always knew how this story was going to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fate

Chapter 1:

This felt like fate to him.

And he had had many dreams of fate.

Since the days of his greater youth; since only boyhood…

The days when it was proven to him his physical inferiority.

Weakness frowned upon and derided by the very foundation upon which Asgard was built, and so too all its inhabitants.

It was in his greater youth, Loki had first felt the heat of rejection and distain.

First sensed the shove backwards from the hands of those he'd for so longed wished friendship of.

They wanted nothing to do with a child so unfitting. A boy outmatched in sparring by even the realms great female warrior, to say nothing of the other boys and men.

A boy who found his only strengths in neglected and shunned practices of study and magic and matters of the mind.

Exercises intended for the fairer of beings among them.

And yet there too, Loki had failed, and brought embarrassment. For the shame of his slightly built frame, and delicate, sharp features.

No man should look as soft as he.

As fragile…

He had had many dreams of fate…

And in these dreams, always he appeared as he was. Called before the Norn's, standing to hear his path. To receive from them a destiny he never had any power in. Weaving for him in an unending tapestry his own suffering and eternal defeat. His place of nowhere, belonging to nothing.

The scorn of all, for no one could ever love the trickster king.

No one could ever love a God of chaos.

A silver-tongued beast from whose lips passed the slyest of untruths, he could keep no friends.

And never know anything of victory…

This felt like fate to him…

He glanced down, eyes settling over the shined silver link of chain, connecting across and attaching his two, binding cuffs, digging deep and unrelenting into the thin skin of his knobby wrists.

Another chain hung down from that one, connecting to the manacles adorning his ankles, equally as tight and uncomfortable.

And across his thin and gaunt face, still ravaged and bruised by the actions of war, his war, the suffocating press of a finely detailed muzzle, to keep that silver tongue of his from weaving more lies, from attacks of manipulation and mental unraveling. And keeping still his lips from uttering words of sorcery.

Thor had brought him here.

To his bed chamber.

Unchanged, he had quickly observed, from when last he'd been in this place, more than a year earlier.

They'd left it undisturbed, and Loki had been caught in the thought of superstition.

Best leave the monsters things be, lest we draw him back from the clutches of Hela herself.

Loki hadn't looked at his brother…

His brother…

He hadn't looked at him, and he hadn't known why.

Thor had spoken some ridiculous, sentimental words to him, had pulled him against his broad chest, his giant, meat hook of a hand cradling the back of his head and whispering against his ear.

Loki had stood stark still, making no gesture to pull away, making no gesture to return the embrace.

He'd said nothing.

Nothing still as he'd felt Thor's arms pull tighter around him, or heard his breath shudder from his throat in some desperate and pathetic longing.

His eyes fixed to the floor as finally the older God had pulled away from him, lingering a moment, his hands on his little brother's shoulders, trying in vain to catch his gaze, to look at him.

But Loki had refused to lift his face.

To acknowledge Thor at all.

He didn't know why…

Until finally the thunder God had turned, and moved away.

Until he had vanished through the doubled doors of Loki's bed chamber, protected from without by two, well built guards, yielding to Thor's retreat. Loki knowing he would not be afforded the same.

He'd looked around, eyes flitting and absent over the contents of his room, not really seeing.

Not focused.

He hadn't expected to be brought here.

Maybe he didn't know what he'd expected, beyond some vague and brutal imagining of the punishment he doubtless deserved.

He'd imagined being walked into the thrown room. The place he'd once stood, side by side with those who'd he'd once allied himself with.

The place he'd once sat, however briefly, and ruled this kingdom from.

But that was a fools notion.

The liesmith deluding himself.

For no one had ever considered him their king.

No one had ever deferred to or followed his judgment.

He'd imagined his father.

His father…

Odin, perched high and looking down upon him, all the world's disappointment and pain and further still, disgust, etched into his old and ravaged face.

Hatred for the boy he'd once dared to call his son.

And his final judgment. His punishment for the child who dared in turn to bring shame to the name of the All-Father and his shining city.

And the royal court, all of Odin's many advisors and men of council, there as well to pass judgment on him, openly this time, and not in glares askance and hushed whispers behind his back, as it had been before.

And Frigga… his mother, unable to raise her eyes to him, and for that alone, he would have felt his only, true regret.

But none of that had as yet happened.

He turned, glancing towards his bed, small and the sheets rumpled. The only thing changed. And somehow he knew Thor has slept there.

He made his way towards it, having to stutter his steps to keep from falling, the clink of the chains as they moved with him and touched.

The sound of his defeat.

His eyes closed as he sank against the mattress, onto his knees, letting himself crumple onto his side.

And he thought then he would like to sleep.

If he could sleep.

But rest is a companion lost to him now. He knows that.

He hasn't slept well in so many, many months.

And the chains and the cuffs and manacles and the muzzle are all so very, very uncomfortable, biting against his battered skin with unkind pressure.

He's sure if any of the restraints were any tighter, then surely they would draw his blood.

But he lets his eyes stay closed anyway, and after a long while, he can actually feel unconsciousness pulling at his minds corners, his weary form growing heavier with it, his thoughts dampening. And he allows himself to hope for those fleeting moments he may, for the time, find some sort of peace.

But it wouldn't be so.

His eyes shot open as if the action were automatic, simply waiting for the command as he heard the chamber door push open, loud and heavy on its hinges, and in an instant, the sleep was gone from his blood, and he is wide awake.

He turned, struggling to right himself, his gaze falling over the two guards who had entered, and the two others, new, that stood just back from them.

Sitting up straighter, and he thought…

"Ah, so now they come."

He didn't move further as the front two continued towards him, the others remaining by the door.

Made no gesture of protest as they took rough hold of his thin arms and yanked him up from the bed.

Behind the muzzle, he smirked, his upturned lips quickly dying then into a frown.

There was a time it might have been considered treason, to lay hands so unkindly upon a prince of Asgard.

The frown deepened as he thought, "No…"

Because that wasn't true either.

Memories clung to his mind with unforgiving clarity.

The taunts of other children, younger and older than he alike.

And all the many times… so many times…

Unkind hands were laid upon him. The weak, younger son. The silver-tongued freakish ghoul. Dark haired and paled skinned. The one who seemed so strangely at odds with the shining, beautiful first prince, glowing and golden. The favored prince. More handsome and strong, and skilled in the ways a man of Asgard should be.

Loki had never been a prince here.

Because he never remembered any of them laying a hand upon Thor the way they had him.

None of them had dared.

He was pushed forward, hard, and it was no surprise to anyone when the lank of chain between his feet yanked at his balance and pulled him down, crashing him to his knees.

His hands shot out reflexively, catching himself just before his forehead could make contact with the hard marble of the floor.

He expected laughter, but there came none.

Only their hands on him again, pulling him back up and telling him…

"Move."

Another shove, not as forceful, and Loki stumbled, managing just barely to stay on his feet this time.

As they walked, the halls of the palace seemed empty, and it was only by virtue of the dim-lit torches lining the many, thick columns that Loki became aware of night having fallen, and he supposed then most of the places occupants must be sleeping or in some other way retired to their chambers.

Had he lost so thorough track of time?

Loki had used to pride himself on his awareness.

But lately… lately, it seemed everything now was slipping from his grasp.

It became quickly apparent, as they continued on, they were leading him from the palace, out into the courtyard, and Loki, for a moment, hesitated.

"Where are you taking me?" He thought to ask, but no voice came, blocked by the metal stretched across his mouth.

So instead he pulled back slightly against the hold of their hands, grasping tightly along his forearms, staring at them with questioning eyes.

And they understood.

"Your King has ordered your public display. You are to be chained in the town square and openly flogged."

Loki felt his jaw lock tight.

His body stiffen.

But it wasn't fear which he felt flood his veins.

Only contempt.

His father then would be dictating his punishment from afar.

Loki couldn't keep the notion of it being cowardice from entering his mind.

He knew to speak against the All-Father in such a way, here, would only lead to his further torment.

But cowardly it seemed.

The man who had claimed to so care for him, and love him, and desire only his protection with his lies…

He wouldn't now grace the once prince with his presence, nay, even his direct acknowledgement.

Apparently, Loki thought with bitter resentment, the All-Father's son didn't warrant enough importance for him to personally see to his own judgments upon him. Didn't garner the required respect or deservedness of in the least having his penance explained to him.

Odin would simply order his torture from his lofty distance, and deny Loki even the chance to conduct himself in dignity before the king and his court. To accept his punishment in silent stoicism.

He was to be robbed, even of this.

And Loki couldn't help then the too familiar and unwanted heat which spread through his insides, the burning of insignificance and inconsequentiality.

The pain of disconnect.

… Alone…

His eyes closed, trying to push the discomfort away, letting himself without struggle be pulled forward, outside the palace walls, the warm air of night touching upon his skin.

Somehow it felt cold…

And he found himself wondering at the decision to take him out now, when the streets of the city would be mostly abandoned.

A less cynical being than him might consider it a kindness, that he not be paraded before jeering and hate filled crowds, but the God of lies knew the purpose of it was practical and nothing more.

It would be easier, without the distraction and threat of a mob gathering, to string him up and prepare him, and leave him to the people's derision in the morning.

Loki felt nothing at this.

He wouldn't allow himself.

For he knew it was his humiliation they sought, and if these enchanted binds were to keep him from his magic, his only defense then was to give them nothing.

He would not react.

Loki had been flogged before.

As a child.

Those times when he and Thor had gotten themselves into trouble, and it had always been him, him, him who Odin had blamed. The mischief maker, the liesmith, the one you must not trust.

It was Loki they always suspected.

Loki then who was always punished.

Even those times…

Those times Thor had insisted it were his own folly, as so often it was, seeking adventure as he had, dragging his protesting, younger sibling along into it.

And Loki had been flogged.

And the thought of it now brought him no, real unease.

Only that…

Only that before, it had been within the walls of the palace, away from the gaze of the public.

A private matter. One only Odin and Frigga and Thor, and those guards charged with carrying out the task had ever known.

As was the punishment of any member of royalty.

It was the commoner criminals who were made public displays of, public examples, to dissuade any such deviant behavior from spreading.

And was that what he was now?

A commoner?

No… no…

He was less than that even, wasn't he?

An outcast.

Made an example of for a kind of insidious entertainment.

The thought of this instead, not the physical pain to come, caused an unpleasant drop down through his stomach.

But he wouldn't show it.

He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't…

He wouldn't be weak.

And so he swallowed the sickness down, and continued forward.

It would take a long time more before they had reached the town square, Loki's chained feet making it impossible to move faster. And there, they brought him to a stone pillar, located in near the absolute center, familiar to Loki, for the times he'd come to gaze upon it, and wonder at the cruelty of such a device.

Other manacles hung from it, embedded in the stone deep, and bolted down by iron.

And the column was thick with the smell of blood, clinging in darkened shade to the rock, despite having been doused and scrubbed after each, fresh wave of it.

The stain of those who had been chained there could never be fully washed away.

Loki had used to frown, face lining in disgust as he would come out and gaze upon this thing. At the methods of torture implemented by what was meant to be a sophisticated people.

It had seemed barbaric to him, as it was when he would undergo the same. Though with him, and those occasions when Thor had been subjected the same, it was afterwards they would be free to go, and never had they been restrained against cold, unyielding stone.

Loki remembered arguing against the All-father once, so very, very long ago, and so foolhardy an endeavor, he'd come to realize immediately afterwards. He'd made clear his disapproval of such practices, of whipping chained men against rocks, surrounded by the gathering throngs to be laughed and jeered at, their misery made an amusement.

"It reflects poorly among our kind." He'd said, voice low and calm. "Are we not meant to be above such practice? Are we not meant to lead by example those less advanced than we, and move the realms forward from the barbarity of war and cruelty?"

Odin had not been pleased.

The error on Loki's part, he recalled, had been addressing his grievances before a group of gathered advisors, challenging his father's rule and authority before the court and so, he supposed, undermining his power.

That had not been his intention.

He had come that day from this very place, from having witnessed the carrying out of the exact sentence which he himself was now to suffer.

He was the only member of the royal family who had ever dared to expose himself to it. And he remembered the hushed whispers of those he passed by, their words of accusation and mistrust, their eyes askance, glaring at him with both distain and fear, shifting away whenever he glanced back.

They'd thought he did it out of desire. Some depraved need to see the suffering of others. Because didn't that just go along with his very nature?

Loki, the mischievous.

Loki the liar.

Loki the destroyer.

But that hadn't been true.

It hadn't been.

There'd been a time…

There'd been a time when it had pained him so. When it had afflicted the dead thing now residing in his chest. The thing which had once been his heart. To see the cruelty of his own people. To realize it in his own father.

Loki had once been a gentle thing.

He's sure of it.

He can remember.

He'd once been so very, very gentle.

War… war…

Violence and war…

He'd shied away from them.

From combat and battle and glory, glory, glory…

Thor's glory…

He'd never understood any of it.

The need for blood…

He'd once been so gentle…

And Odin had punished him for this.

Hadn't they all?

With sneering expressions and hateful eyes.

Loki had watched the torture out of a need to understand.

But he never had. No matter how many times he saw it executed.

The reason for it only confusing further.

Until that day, and his confusion had at last overwhelmed him, and he'd protested to his father, and he'd been punished.

Loki thought maybe it had been that day when something inside him had begun to harden.

When he'd felt the whip coming down across his exposed back, tearing lines of red into his white, white skin. And his teeth had gritted, and he'd choked down his cries.

He thought maybe he'd felt something like betrayal that day…

He was brought back to the present when he felt the shackles round his wrists being tampered with, his eyes lifting, watching as one of the guards undid the cuff round his right wrist. And there was a release of pressure, a stinging relief along his bruising skin as the metal came away.

They wouldn't undo them completely, he knew, lest his magic be returned to him.

And he could kill them all so very easily if it were.

He stood motionless then as two of the other guards came near, the third holding to the chain, still pulling along his left wrist, and they began with invasive hands to undo the armor and leather incasing his upper half.

Loki stared ahead of himself absently, his eyes fixing over some indistinct spot beyond, feeling the layers as they were stripped from him.

Feeling his size decrease with each piece peeled away.

He was so thin underneath it all.

So small…

… A Jotun runt.

He frowned, barely noticing as they pulled his right arm free, leaving one half of him exposed before replacing the cuff, undoing the other and removing the rest of his upper garments, at last leaving his torso bare.

He only came back to their actions when he felt his feet kicked violently apart, and a heavy hand shoving down against his shoulder, forcing him to his knees.

And suddenly he was being jerked forward by the hands, slid against the ground and his arms pulled about the thick column. His face and chest pressed cruelly against the cold stone as they hooked the manacles embedded in the rock to his own, locking him in place, leaving no real room to maneuver. He was nearly flush against the pillar, pulled taught. And he knew, when the whip came down, there would be no yield in it for him. No way to slacken against the harsh, leather instrument.

He would bear the full brunt of it then.

But not tonight.

Not until the city was awash in the light of morning, and Asgard's citizens had poured into the streets once more.

Loki understood he would be left to their ridicule for all the hours until the noon hour struck.

And it was then he would be laid waste to.

It would be then his punishment truly began…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

His mouth is dry.

It is so dry, he finds himself unable to swallow. Unable even to wet to his sore throat, or to make his tongue shift behind his teeth.

The mask, he thinks in absent and bitter amusement, is hardly necessary then.

He couldn't have spoken well enough in that moment for it to matter.

Not for it to be a danger to anyone but himself, for the shame of his normally deft and rapid articulation falling into slurred and clumsy words.

His lids close, and he is all too aware of the ache of his eyes behind them.

They burn.

Thick and heavy moisture gathers at their edges, hanging there, and his lids squeeze tighter, trying to press the tears back, failing as they slip an instant later, and they feel like fire down his cheeks.

The sound of the whip cutting the air meets his ears before, for the dozenth time, he feels the agony of it, now instead cutting his skin, tearing it wide. And his teeth grit, coming together so hard he thinks surely they would crack, his face screwing up at the blazing radiation of pain which shoots sharp and unforgiving across the whole of him.

He feels his throat constrict with the scream, threatening to break loose from his vocal cords. But he swallows it back down, focusing what little energy he has left to do so, sputtering against the metal encasing his jaw.

And his body trembles.

Fresh warmth spreads across his back, the warmth searing for the knowledge that it is his own blood, trickling down the sides of him, onto the pavement cruel beneath his knees. And an unheard gasp was all that passed his lips then, pressed back by the gag.

Even if he did scream, no one would know.

No one but him.

And it is for himself now he struggles against it.

He would not scream.

He would not be weak.

"Do not be weak Loki… Do not be what they wish of you…"

But still his mind protests, disgust curling its way through him for the way he shakes so viciously. The way his body betrays him and trembles uncontrolled, like some small and pathetic child, without strength, without power. And how his face gives away without consent just how very much he hurts.

He cannot feign total apathy, and his thoughts rage against it. Against the idea that this place and its people have hold over him still.

But their laughter and shouting is proof enough of it.

Those citizens of Asgard, gathered round him and riotous for how their once unwanted prince shrinks beneath the lashes and their own, forceful taunts.

"Where now is your wit, great Loki?"

"Have you nothing anymore to say? No fanciful words to worm your way out?"

"Has that silver tongue of yours at last turned to lead?"

"He has nothing without his words! You see? He is useless without his dark spells!"

"Useless indeed without his tricks! Without his treacherous tongue and treasonous magicks!"

"He has no defense without those things! A sorry example of one born of Aesir!"

"Oh, but have you not heard? The rumors on high! He is no son born of fire! But one born of ice! The bastard spawn of King Laufy!"

And there is an eruption of jeers, fierce screams and shocked gasps, anger and betrayal and hatred swirling among the gathered crowd.

And Loki keeps his eyes closed, pushing down in him the depths of his own shame, pushing away their words of realization and prideful comprehension, as if the thought hadn't just dawned upon them.

"I always knew there was something not right about him!"

"Then his treachery comes as no surprise! His wretchedness was always clear!"

"Devil's spawn! Monstrous thing! He should be slain where he sits!"

"He should be slain! For surely otherwise he will be the end of us all!"

"If he could end his own father, then surely!"

He blocks it out.

He tries.

If ever there were a thing he had found pride in, it was in his ability to control.

And what ever could he hope to control if not himself?

And he would not listen…

He would not yield…

The noise fades as he focuses only on the cracking of the whip, the sound of it as it splits his flesh anew. Focuses on that only, and the pain of it against his back.

For the pain of it is nothing then compared to their words, and the knowledge of what he knows himself to be…

And he hardly notices it when they begin throwing rotted fruit against him.

He hardly notices at all…

/

He has nothing left in him now…

Slumped against the pillar, body emptied of whatever tension had before filled it.

Whatever strength…

And he lay now, broken there, flush still against the stone, nowhere to fall besides.

The crowd has by then mostly dispersed.

At least, that is what Loki thinks.

His eyes had been closed so long now, under the heat of the sun and press of so many bodies, the fire of his lashing, that his lids now felt as though they'd been welded shut, sticking and crusted to his face.

He wasn't sure if he could open them now, even if he wanted to.

But he doesn't want to.

Because even though most of the noise of the crowd has dissipated, and things have grown so much quieter, and it's been hours he's sure since the man charged with carrying out his flogging has gone, there are still people there.

Still a few holdovers, snickering and he thinks pointing, muttering and whispering.

And throwing things still.

Loki tries not to flinch when he feels something soft and wet collide with his right temple. But he does anyway, and the mirth which follows tells him so.

A little more of this, a few minutes longer, more sopping mush smacking and sliding from his face and body, and he thinks with burning cheeks that this will likely go on all night, or until his remaining assailants grow bored.

He isn't sure the latter option would make him feel better, the thought of losing even that usefulness.

"Are you in want of sustenance, Prince Loki?"

Suddenly, one of the voices is right in front of him, mocking, just inches away, and involuntarily he jerks, trying to turn his face from them.

He feels harsh fingers curl tight into his hair though, and suddenly, he's being pulled back forward, the fingers digging and pulling cruelly against his scalp.

"Then won't you have a meal fit for a king?" The voice laughs, and Loki can smell the spoiled fruit before it ever touches his face.

And then he can feel it, being smeared over his lids and across his nose and cheeks and forehead, and he begins to try pulling his head free of the fingers, to twist away.

But he's too weak now, and he can't break loose, and he begins to gag as the smell of the rotten fruit fills his nostrils, a sickening nausea building up from the pit of his stomach at the foulness of it, bile threatening at the thick and clumsy fingers pressing and racking and kneading against the muscles of his face.

And Loki feels violated in some hideous way he can't quite explain now.

Dizzyingly exposed…

He keeps his eyes closed, because he doesn't want to see.

And he just wants this to stop…

He just wants…

There's a harsh gasp in front of him, a strangled cry, sliding into a whimper, and the voice which was before mocking is suddenly begging, entreating desperately to someone else.

"Please, your grace, I did not mean…"

"You will not place your hands upon a son of Odin again!" Thor's voice booms like thunder, and the man falls silent. And Loki can't decide how he should feel.

Relief washes through him, such utter relief, he almost wants to sob, and immediately to follow, he feels disgust for it. Consuming rage for his own weakness.

How pathetic he is.

He keeps his eyes closed still, turning his face away from where he hears the struggle, and again, his brothers voice.

"You will stay away from here, tiny peasant. You will not return."

The man doesn't answer, and Loki thinks he must have nodded his compliance, as a moment later, there is the sound of him being thrown to the ground, and then feet scampering, another fall, until finally, he can hear him running away.

"That goes for all of you!" Thor again commands, and a moment later, there are several sets of footfalls, moving quickly and out.

Loki goes perfectly still.

He doesn't know why.

Only maybe this strange sense that, if he doesn't move, Thor won't notice him there. Thor won't see him. And he might be spared the absolute humiliation of this moment.

Might be spared the reminder of his own lack of worth when compared to the shining first son.

The only true son…

But it doesn't work, as suddenly, Loki feels warm, strong hands take hold of his face, cradling it gently, their handling in sharp contrast to the rough and blistered calluses he can feel along the palms from centuries of battles and sparring and fighting…

"Loki…" Thor speaks his name in a hushed whisper, as though it were something sacred, delicately as though trying to avoid hurting his already throbbing and ringing ears, still suffering the affects of the crowds from earlier, their shouting and screaming and laughing, laughing, laughing.

And Loki can hear the pity in Thor's own voice, and he wants to pull away.

But he doesn't move, and he doesn't open his eyes.

And he can feel a terrible heat spreading through him, like absolute embarrassment, and he wishes in that moment more than anything he had his magic so he could just vanish into a puff of smoke.

Into a puff of nothing…

"Odin's stones, look what they've done to you." He again hears Thor's voice, and it's thick with agony, like it's him who's been chained to a stone pillar and flogged repeatedly for the last, several hours.

"Loki, can you hear me?" Thor speaks again, his hands holding firmer.

Loki feels his thick thumbs pressing over his cheekbones, smoothing up, into his tangled and blood spattered hair, drenched now in sweat.

"Brother, please, open your eyes. Look at me."

But Loki doesn't want to. He doesn't want to look at Thor.

He doesn't want Thor there now.

He wants him to go away.

"Please, please, leave me be…"

But Thor isn't letting him go, and Loki knows he can't convey to his brother, his… his brother what he wants without looking at him. Without sending the message through his eyes.

"Loki…" the hands grip firmer still, desperate. "I implore you, do not shut me out…"

And finally… finally, Loki forces his lids to lift, the effort seeming impossibly hard, like the folds of skin are clinging with clawed fingers, reluctant to let go.

It takes a moment, his vision blurred and unfocused before, finally, he sees Thor's beautiful, handsome face in front of him, inches away, his blue, blue eyes looking back with so much concern.

And Loki feels sick.

He really, really feels sick.

A wave of dizziness rushes through his head, and he sways, even in Thor's grip, and Thor must realize it, because in an instant, his eyes go wide in alarm, and he isn't hesitating as his fingers reach around to the back of Loki's head, and he's pressing down against the gags lock mechanism, unlatching it.

Loki thinks briefly that it's a dangerous endeavor on the thunder God's part, and that surely he's going to land himself in trouble for his foolishness. Odin won't be pleased to know his heir is acting in direct defiance to his dictums.

But the thought is fleeting, and Loki can't think anymore as he's consumed with the sensation of his stomach leaping up through his throat, the foul taste of acidic bile washing up rapidly into his mouth.

Thor's trying to pull the metal away from his face quickly, but it isn't fast enough, and half of the vomit gets forced back down before the mask is removed completely, and Loki gags on it, sputtering and hacking as what's left dribbles out past his lips, rivulets of his saliva hanging disgusting from his lower lip.

Feebly, he tries turning his head away, barely registering the clatter of the mask as Thor throws it to the ground.

He has scarcely a moment to rest before what was forced down forces its way back up again, and once more, he's vomiting, more violently this time. Though his stomach is empty, and all that comes out is a brownish liquid.

It's the humiliation of it which tastes most bitter.

Which makes his skin burn hot as though he'd been tossed into the fires of Muspelheim.

And Loki thinks how very bad that would be for him, because… because he's an frost giant, and the heat would surely kill him without his magic to… to protect him and…

And there's a sudden and irrational moment of panic which blooms in his heart at the thought that Odin may cast him out to there as punishment, and he knows the pain will be the most vicious he's ever felt before death finally takes him in her merciful grasp.

He doesn't understand why the thought frightens him so, because he isn't afraid to die.

He isn't afraid of that.

"Brother…" Thor's deep voice is against his ear, hushed as much as it can be, and Loki curses himself for flinching as his ox of a would be sibling folds his arm across his mangled back, trying to sit him up straighter.

The pain is dizzying, and he can't believe Thor's stupidity in not realizing how much he's hurting him.

But then, Thor never was any good at realizing the consequences of his own actions, and it's what Loki's always most resented about him, he thinks.

Thor finally gets it as he shifts an arm, and Loki can't help the sharp gasp which pushes past his lips.

"I'm sorry!" The thunder God says quickly, worriedly. "Am I hurting you?"

Loki thinks to say something belittling of his lacking intelligence, but all that comes out is a gurgled hiss of a breath.

And he doesn't know why it's only then he becomes suddenly aware of the release of pressure against his face, and the settling soreness of where the mask had been digging against his skin.

Only then becoming aware that he can hear himself, whether they're actual words his voice forms, or just these ridiculous sounds.

The muzzle's been removed, and he can speak again.

And he thinks it's pitiful, really, how that sends such a relief through his insides.

He forgets a moment about how everything hurts, and he says…

"… Thor… remove yourself from me."

His voice comes out a weak and thin rasp, hardly recognizable as his own.

And he supposes he's grateful that Thor can at least follow simple instruction, his arm across his back pulling away. Except that, he's still gripping too tight to Loki's own arm, and if he had the energy, Loki thinks, he would glare angrily at the stronger God and undress him verbally in all the most cutting ways he knew how.

And suddenly he thinks with sickening satisfaction about the single time he'd actually made Thor cry.

After trying for so long with just words…

When he'd gone down to Midgard during his banishment, and told him Odin had died.

And then he thinks…

Then he thinks of all the many times Thor had made him cry…

And all of Thor's friends…

His many, many friends…

And how, after a time, he'd fought his hardest never to do it in front of any of them, because that had only brought their further ridicule. And so he'd always turned away, when he could feel the demandable stinging in his eyes, and walk… try to walk away, not run, and keep his body from trembling with the emotion welling so disgustingly up inside of him, to keep his throat tight and closed and not let anything out but silence because… because it hurt when they had said those things to him, and it had… it had hurt when they told him he wasn't allowed to play, wasn't going to be included…

It had hurt when they went on as though he weren't there…

And he didn't want them to see that it actually mattered to him…

He didn't want them to know he felt anything at all…

That he wished so much… so, so, so much that just once they would look at him like they did his brother.

Like they were actually happy to see him.

Look at him with anything more than disregard… with contempt.

Loki doesn't quite remember when it was his face had turned to a mask of indifference, his eyes to ice. No expression passing within them when their disparages and exclusions had failed to wane over the centuries.

Only that it had happened, and he'd become so masterful at pretending he didn't care.

At whipping back at all of them, or striking first even with remarks a thousand times more cutting, because none of them… none of them had his perception, or his ability to place observations into words.

And he'd kept that too from his face; from his eyes. The deadening weight and vicious rage, when his words, however eloquently spoken and craftily delivered, had failed again and again to rouse in them the same reactions as their clumsy and foolish and lazy insults had done with him in his younger days. When they'd simply laughed, as though nothing he'd said was of any consequence, because he was of no consequence, and so they'd remained so blithely unaffected by any of it at all.

Because they were strong and he was…

"I did not know Father had done this." Thor is talking again. "When I went searching for you in your quarters and found you not there, I demanded Odin tell me what he'd done with you."

He's moving around, bending onto his knees in front of Loki, trying to see his face.

And for the first time since he's been brought back here, Loki allows himself to look back, blinking.

Thor, he notices, looks distressed, his perfect face lined and tight, his eyes filled with puzzlement.

Loki would smirk at it, if he had the strength, and if he knew he himself could evoke anything more than pity in that moment.

But he can't, he realizes, and so instead his eyes fall away, and for a long moment, he says nothing.

"Brother…?" Thor starts again.

"Do not…" Loki hisses, trying vainly to make his voice sound fuller. "do not refer to me as your brother. We are not brothers."

"Loki, please…" Thor pleads, and Loki can see the way his eyes fall over his form, the way his brow furrows in seeming pain.

Loki wants nothing more in that moment then to tell Thor the agony of his wounds now is as nothing compared to the agony of Thor's own, innumerable rejections over the centuries. But then, Thor would again tell him his slights are imagined, and Loki has no doubt in his mind that Thor fully and truly believes this.

He's never been one for introspection. For self-awareness.

He's never known the affect of what he's done.

Loki sometimes thinks he hates Thor most of all for that…

And now Thor's looking away, tearing his gaze from him and shifting it to the ground, like he can't bear the sight of him anymore, and Loki wants to scream and scream at him that he doesn't want his pity. He doesn't want his help.

"Not when I asked it of you all those years, when I cried for you to simply pay me mind, and you instead cast me off as a joke, as an annoyance and a hindrance even those times you needed me."

Instead he only says…

"… Go. Go away from me Thor. The All-Father will not be pleased with you, knowing you aid a traitor of Asgard."

"I do not care what Father thinks." Thor answers quickly, his eyes lifting back up, anger apparent across his features.

"You should." Loki answers.

"But I do not." Thor replies. "What is being done to you is not right."

And at this, Loki actually laughs, a bitter and choked sound which rasps from his dry throat.

"Oh, you are amusing Thor." He says, only spurred on in it from the lost expression across the other God's face. "Your compassion blinds you."

"It does not." Thor insists. "Torture is not the answer. It is not going to solve this."

"You misunderstand then Thor." Loki interjects. "It is not about solving. It is about revenge. And appearances. The guarding of assets and standings."

Thor's face falls in frustrated incomprehension, his lips pulling into a deep frown. For a long moment, he pauses, silent, and Loki can see his brain working.

And then he says, broad and sure, the loss disappearing from his eyes…

"It does not matter!"

And just like that, Thor is all confidence and surety again.

"Torture is not right. It does not matter what you did. I will not stand for this."

Loki rolls his eyes, unable to help himself.

"You are dangerously naïve Thor." He says, turning away again. And his voice is still strained and thin and barely there.

Thor reaches down, removing a canteen from his hip, unscrewing the lid.

"Here." He says, bringing the nozzle to Loki's dried and cracked lips. "Drink."

Loki turns away again.

"Loki…" Thor urges.

Loki doesn't respond, keeping his face turned.

And he hears Thor growl in frustration, and suddenly his powerful hand is clasping against the back of his head, forcing his face back forward, forcing the nozzle of the canteen to his lips.

Loki tries viciously to rip free of the thunder God's grasp, his face twisting in an enraged scowl. And rage turns to unwanted, tingling heat, spreading fast through his insides, the burning of shame at his own weakness, draining the fight utterly from him as he goes limp.

Thor doesn't notice.

Thor never notices.

Never sees what he does when he…

The nozzle is being pushed past Loki's lips then, the lukewarm water seeping from it against his tongue, down his throat. And it scorches for how dry his throat is, almost hurts. And to his greater shame, Loki drinks it, he swallows it down almost desperately.

Thor is still holding to the back of his skull, refusing to let him go, to let him move, keeping the canteen tilted, the liquid flowing until Loki can't keep pace with it anymore, and he begins to sputter and choke.

Only then does Thor realize what he's doing, and he pulls the canteen away, his face pulling again in worry as his little brother gasps and coughs, the motion violent through his thin frame.

"Loki, are you…"

"Thor, leave me be!" Loki hisses angrily, voice straining still as sporadic hacking continues to force its way from his throat. "Just go!"

Thor frowns.

"Loki, I…"

"GO!"

And Loki can't take it anymore, he can't stop it. And even as the sob breaks from his lips, he hates himself.

He hates himself so much, it's like suffocating. Like his lungs have nothing in them anymore to breathe.

He turns away again as Thor's hand slips from him, trying and failing to choke down another sob, and his lids close against the wash of tears which well unrelenting and strong in his eyes, blinding his vision.

And he curses himself as they fall, slipping down his hollowed cheeks, burning his pale skin it feels as badly as the whip had against his back.

He wants to cover his face, to hide it behind his hands.

But he can't move them, still shackled to the pillar.

He can't move at all.

And he can't take it anymore.

He can't take it at all…

"… Go…" he cries, voice so soft, it's nearly lost on the air as nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

He looked after where they had disappeared from his view, over the crest of the hill he now stood at the foot of, his hand held over his eyes to block the high afternoon sun from them.

They narrowed in frustration, though for who, he wouldn’t say, before blowing a sigh past his lips and dropping his arm, head shaking.

Well, if Thor and his friends weren’t willing to slow their course for him, he wouldn’t be willing to strain himself to catch up. And if he felt an uncomfortable heat pool in the pit of his stomach at the thought, he would push that aside and pretend very well that it wasn’t there.

He hadn’t wanted to go on this damned adventure anyway.

He didn’t understand why the concept of no was one so hard to grasp for seemingly so many.

He’d been perfectly content that morning, sitting in his bed chamber, reading his book, when Thor had come bursting through the doors, Sif and the Warriors following suit, laughing loudly and making a ruckus which still made Loki’s head throb in annoyance.

“Brother, today we quest!” Thor had proclaimed loudly, smile broad across his handsome, still developing face.

He’d begun just a few weeks earlier to show the first signs of facial hair, and he bore the wisps proudly, ridiculous looking as they were, to which Loki hadn’t hesitated to point out on numerous occasions. 

Thor had proclaimed him merely jealous, obvious, he’s said, for the fact of his younger brothers still smooth as a newborns skin.

Loki hadn’t given him the pleasure of telling him it was true, nor the humiliation of acknowledging to himself the same.

He’d remained seated, cross legged on his bed, not bothering to look up from the book in his hands, or to speak.

After a long moment, he’d heard Fandral sigh heavily before cutting in.

“Thor, he doesn’t want to, and besides all that, you know he’ll only slow us down.”

“You’ll watch your tongue Fandral, and take care how you speak of my brother.” Thor had turned to him, replying sharply.

Fandral, ever arrogant and full of confidence, had persisted.

“But it is only truth!” He’d insisted. “You know your brother to be physically weak. If we take him with us, we shall never reach the mark before sunset.”

Thor had turned fully towards his friend then, mouth pulled into a deep frown, anger ready to burst from his lips and put Fandral in his place.

But Loki had spoken before he’d ever gotten the chance.

“No Thor,” he’d said softly, his voice barely catching in the air. “he’s right. I’m weak…” He’d looked up from his book then finally, eyes locking hard on Fandral. “and I shall only impede your progress should you drag me along.”

For a moment, the room had fallen into silence, the eyes of everyone settling over the younger prince, staring back, until at last, Loki shrugged, moving his gaze back to his book.

“And anyway, I don’t wish to go.” He’d finished, turning a page. “I was well entertained before you lot invited yourselves into my private chambers.”

Predictably, he heard Thor laugh, loudly and amused, thinking his brother was having a joke.

“Well then Loki,” he’d begun, stepping closer. “it shall only do you good then to quest. How do you ever intend to grow strong like me and the Warriors if you sit and read all day?”

“I don’t…” Loki had replied flatly, and Thor had laughed again.

“Come now brother, don’t be silly.” He’d gone on, clearly not picking up on what Loki thought were rather obvious signals that he wanted to be left alone. “You have all the time in the world for your ridiculous books. Come with me and we will find glory this day!”

Loki had sighed, turning another page.

“Loki…”

“Thor, I do not wish to…”

Before he could get the words fully from his mouth, his older brother had closed the distance between them and snatched the book right out of his hands, pulling a near silent gasp from him, his eyes widening.

“Thor, give that back!” He’d snapped, lunging to take it.

But Thor, as always, had been too quick, turning and laughing as he flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What language is this?” He’d asked after a moment, turning the book this way and that, as though to do so might decipher the words on the page to him.

Loki had huffed, trying to calm himself and failing miserably.

“No language you know. Now give it back Thor!”

“No.”

“Thor!”

Sif and the Warriors had begun to chuckle, not bothering to cover their amusement at the younger prince’s dilemma. 

Loki had felt his cheeks burn as Thor had held the book high above his head, out of his brothers reach, and eventually, Loki had given up, sinking back down to the bed, folding his arms across his thin chest and looking away, praying to whoever that his embarrassment wasn’t too obvious.

Thor had eyed him a long moment then, frowning, before finally, he’d brought the book back down, tossing it onto the bed.

“I only jest brother.” He’d said. “You shouldn’t be so sensitive.” 

“I’m not!” Loki had snapped, voice rising, breaking slightly.

Volstagg had laughed loudly, and Loki had shot him a glare before reaching out and taking back his book, cradling it against his stomach.

“Well, no matter.” Thor had gone on, as though the entire incident mattered nothing. “You’re coming with us, and that is my decision.”

“Thor, I’ve told you, I do not wish…”

But before he’d been able to finish, Thor had taken hold of his wrist and pulled him from the bed, refusing to hear anymore.

And that was how he’d ended up here, at the bottom of this blasted hill, breathing heavy from having tried his damndest to keep pace.

Loki wondered at Thor’s sincerity in wanting him along on these absurd endeavors of his, when each time lately, he became so consumed in the task of success and exploration, he seemed to forget Loki was there at all, charging ahead undeterred and unfaltering, whether his younger brother was able to stay at his side or not.

Even Sif and the Warriors Three had to put in an effort to stay with Thor when he got like this. But unlike him, they were able to accomplish the task with seeming ease.

Sighing, and taking his eyes from the top of the hill finally, Loki began his trudge up it, hoping silently that they hadn’t gotten too far ahead and vanished completely. He would never hear the end of it from Thor’s companions if he lost them and was forced to go back to the palace on his own.

Finally, after what seemed far too great a time, and much too strained an effort, Loki reached the hills top.

His eyes had been fixed down on his way up, watching his feet cut across the wild blades of tall grass, his boots growing wet and heavy from yesterdays rain. He didn’t even see Fandral as he stepped over the crest, his only warning the sound of feet rushing forward, his eyes flicking up in time to see the slightly older boy upon him before he let loose a feral scream.

“ARGHHH!” Fandral cried, and for the briefest of moments, Loki’s eyes went wide as saucers, a sharp gasp escaping past his lips as he reared back.

And then he was falling, his footing having been lost, and he was crashing back down the hill, rolling violently and uncontrolled to its bottom.

Fandral laughed loudly, along with Volstagg and Sif. Hogun remained quiet, motionless and watching.

Thor had turned to see what the noise was about, doing so in time only to catch the sight of Loki flailing backwards, disappearing a moment later out of his sight, and his own eyes had gone wide in alarm, hesitating only a second before dashing forward, blowing past his friends, stopping and staring in horror for only an instant as he watched his little brother crash across the hard ground before coming to a stop at the bottom, splayed and prone against his face and stomach. Not moving.

Thor ran, crying out Loki’s name as Sif and the Warriors all exchanged unsure glances before following after.

“Loki! Loki, are you injured?” Thor gasped desperately, reaching his brother in a matter of seconds, falling to the ground beside him and reaching out.

Loki moaned in pain, his arms shifting beneath him as he attempted to push himself up.

The taste of copper filled his mouth, followed quickly by a sharp sting through his tongue, and he realized he must have bitten it in his surprise, anger and frustration filling him as he realized that later it would be sore. Along with every other part of him.

“Do not move Loki.” Thor ordered, his hands falling over the younger prince’s shoulders, attempting to help him. “You may be hurt.”

“I’m fine!” Loki hissed lowly, trying to pull away.

“You are not…” Thor insisted.

At last, the others reached them, stopping a few feet behind the two brothers, watching.

Thor turned, face contorted in anger as he glared at Fandral.

“How could you do such a thing?” He asked hotly, his hands still grasping Loki’s thin shoulders. “You know him to be fragile! He cannot take such a fall!”

Fandral assumed a look of innocence and surprise.

“It was only in jest!” He defended. “How was I to know he would react with such fright?”

Thor’s eyes narrowed.

“You knew.” He said plainly.

“Pff.” Fandral waved him off. “And what does it matter if I did? It serves your brother well for turning my mead to baking powder last week.”

“You are too young for mead yet Fandral!” Sif laughed.

“Yes, you mean your ginger ale!” Volstagg boomed.

Fandral smiled sharply, shrugging.

“Well, the point…”

“The point is that you have wronged my brother!” Thor cut him off, voice drowning all of theirs. “A silly prank should not be repaid through physical harm!”

“It is fine Thor.” Loki cut in, finally having managed to push himself to a sitting position. “I am fine.”

“You are not.” Thor answered, looking back to him.

“I am!” The younger prince insisted. “Now let me up.”

He began to push himself to his feet, shrugging Thor’s hands from his shoulders.

He’d barely made it past his knees before a sharp pain through his lower back caused him to gasp out and collapse back down, trying to choke back the cry which threatened at the bottom of his throat.

“Loki!”

Fandral laughed.

“A fine prince of ours you make!” He said to the smaller boy. “However will you grow to be a warrior of Asgard when you come to bruise so easily?”

Thor was about to speak when Loki cut him short, his face twisting in heated emotion as he turned to look at Fandral.

“I’ll make a finer warrior than you!” He spat, losing hold of his calm.

Fandral only laughed again.

“Is that so?” He went on. “And I suppose it’s some great scheme of yours, to lose to us every day in the training fields? You’re only pretending, is that right? Displaying weakness and cowardice with purposeful intent, in spite of course of the shame you bring to your father through it?”

“Fandral, you will stay your tongue!” Thor raged, standing quickly and facing the other boy, stance threatening.

“Oh, yes, I forgot!” Fandral replied. “I should take care how I speak to the young prince, given what strength he finds in you as his protector.”

“I need no protector!” Loki nearly screamed, rising to his feet, pushing down the pain which again flared through his back. “I can best you in battle any day!”

“Loki…” Thor started, turning towards his brother, reaching out.

“No!” Loki swatted his hand away, his eyes locked still on Fandral. “You think me so weak? So frail? You think me a coward who brings shame upon my father’s name? Then I shall show you who the real coward is!”

Fandral grinned viciously.

“Well come on then, little prince!” He accepted the challenge without hesitation. “Show me what warrior heart you have in you!”

Before Thor could react, before he could reach out to stop his little brother, Loki had lunged for Fandral, throwing himself at the larger boy with everything he had, an enraged snarl tearing past his lips.

Fandral dodged him easily, laughing lightly as he stepped aside, letting Loki stumble forward and nearly lose his footing.

“You’ll have to do better than that trickster!” He mocked.

“Fandral, stop this!” Thor began desperately, stepping forward. “Stop this antagonizing!” 

“You stay out of this!” Loki hissed, whirling back around, determined, and a moment later, he’d thrown himself again at Fandral.

And again, Fandral stepped aside, this time reaching out as Loki flew past him, pushing the smaller boy to the ground, laughing once more.

“How do you hope to best me when you cannot even lay a hand on me?” He asked Loki as the prince pushed himself to his hands and knees. 

Sif and Volstagg erupted in agreements, laughing lightly as they watched Loki struggle.

Their laughter cut abruptly short as Loki turned, his eyes ablaze in anger, the anyway unnatural brightness of his green irises seeming almost to glow now with unchecked emotion, his teeth bared in snarl.

“I need not catch you if you cannot run!” He cried, and the group had only a moment for confusion before Loki rose to his feet and motioned forward with his hands, speaking in a tongue none of them understood.

“Aratura.” He only whispered, and suddenly the smell of magic permeated the air, heavy and thick, and Fandral found himself rooted to the spot, his arms pinned down to his sides, unable to move.

His eyes went wide, visible fear flashing through them, and he began desperately to protest.

“He uses black craft!” He started, voice pitching higher. “He uses the dark ar…”

“Araventani.” Loki again whispered, again motioning forward with his fingers, the gesture delicate and refined. And suddenly Fandral’s voice was lost to him, vanishing into thin air, his eyes going even wider, panic clear in them.

“You dare?” Sif abruptly started, expression contorting in rage. “He dares use magic!” She went on, and now Volstagg and Hogun started too, faces creasing with heavy frowns, the three of them beginning to step forward, towards Loki.

“NO!” Thor cried, reaching for them to push them back.

They didn’t understand, they didn’t know…

But Loki was ready.

He was ready for them all.

“AraventauDANI!” His voice rose, and the magic grew thicker in the air, almost cloying, and in an instant, the three had frozen, the same as Fandral, their voices also gone to them.

“ORATAR!” Loki motioned violently forward, his voice cracking with emotion as Sif and the Warriors were lifted bodily from the ground, slammed with unforgiving force back down, knocking the breathe from all of them.

“LOKI!” Thor stepped forward, between his brother and his companions. “Loki, STOP this!”

“Step aside Thor.” The younger prince answered, his eyes focused over the taller boys shoulder, voice eerily calm. “They brought this on themselves.”

“No Loki, this is not right.” Thor argued, stepping closer, hands held out in a plea. “You are simply giving in to Fandral’s taunts. This is beneath you. This is beneath a prince of Asgard.”

“Apparently I am beneath the station as is.” Loki shot, eyes for only a moment moving to his brother before snapping back to those he had entangled.

“You are not. But if you act as you are, you only give others the means to dismiss you with.” Thor replied carefully.

He could see the emotion raging in Loki, the precarious ledge he stood upon suddenly, despite his outwardly calm demeanor. And knew so how dangerous he was then.

“I do not care what they think of me!” Loki spat, losing some of that control.

“Then let them go Loki.” Thor breathed. “This is not worth it.”

Loki responded by flicking his fingers downwards, pressing the four harder into the ground, watching as their faces twisted in pain.

“Loki, you SHAME yourself!” Thor hissed, taking another step towards his brother.

Loki’s eyes flashed dangerously, looking to him.

“I…” his head shook. “they wished to engage me. They wished to do battle. I am doing as you would if attacked!”

“This is not how you do battle Loki.” Thor said back. “This is not how you respond to a challenge. This is a cowards method.” 

And for a moment, Loki faltered, his eyes blinking back at the elder prince, staring as though he didn’t understand.

“… It is the only way I can find victory.” He said in a voice almost too soft to hear.

“Then your victory shall be a hollow one.” Thor said back, voice even. “There is no honor, no glory in the way you work.”

And that did it.

That was all it took.

The sting at the back of his eyes was immediate, and his focus broken, the spells shattered, the hold on the four falling away even as the tears spilled over and down Loki’s cheeks.

Humiliation burned him, and he turned, his face falling and crumpling, a balled hand coming to his mouth as he bit down hard of his knuckles to stop the sob from escaping.

“Loki…” Thor reached out for him, ignoring his friends as they shot to their feet, angered words spilling from their lips, accusations and hateful proclamations aimed towards the younger prince, yet none daring to step forward to engage him. 

“…No.” Loki breathed quietly, voice shaking and frail.

Thor stepped closer, his fingers brushing against his brothers shoulder.

“NO!” Loki cried, throwing Thor’s hand from him.

And then he was running.

He was running away from all of them, as fast as he could. As hard as he could.

Running until all of them had lost sight of his lesser form.

And moments past in silence, not a one of them for those seconds moving.

Until finally Fandral stepped forward, closer to Thor, reaching out a hand.

“Thor…” he started gently, but the instant his hand touched, Thor shrugged it away viciously.

“Do not speak to me.” He shot, turning, glaring at the other boy. 

“Thor…” Sif started.

But he only shook his head before pushing past them, heading back up the hill, in the opposite direction of his brother.

He heard them shift behind him to follow.

“You will leave me be.” He snapped out, not bothering to turn and address them.

And they knew better than to challenge what he said then.

They knew better than to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

The doors to the thrown room came crashing open with a bang, nearly throwing off their hinges with the force of the blow against them, and Odin sighed, glancing up unaffected at his son as he came charging in, pacing quickly and determinedly across the floor towards him.

"Father, I would have words with you about my brother!" Thor began, his voice loud and booming off the walls.

Odin narrowed his one eye, the beginnings of irritation scratching the back of his mind.

"Thor, I am in the middle of consul…" he started, but his son cut him short.

"How could you do this to him Father?" He said indignantly. "How could you just leave him chained in the middle of the square like that? To be mocked and derided by… by…"

Another sigh left Odin, keeping his eyes on the approaching crowned prince a moment longer before glancing to his advisor and waving him off.

"Leave us." He ordered, and the man nodded without protest, disappearing out of the room seconds later, walking past Thor without looking up at the enraged, younger god.

Thor continued on until he'd reached the foot of dais, glaring up at the All-Father.

"You said nothing of this Father." He went on hotly. "To me or to Mother. You had him dragged from his chambers in the dead of night like some commoner thief. I did not even know until this evening when I went to see him and found his rooms empty!"

"Thor, it is for his own well being." Odin said, losing his patience. "He must be taught humility."

"Taught humility?" Thor spat. "Father, this is teaching him nothing! Only forcing humility upon him, which will serve only to further embitter him! You cannot possibly think this the right solution."

"It is the only solution Thor!" Odin's voice rose. "Loki is a selfish, petty and cruel child. His actions deplorable. There being no justification for them. He must be shown that, and leniency will not be given."

Thor's expression grew incredulous.

"So you would not even pay him the courtesy of your presence? You would not deign to look upon your youngest son and explain this to him yourself?" The elder prince's voice grew thick with emotion. "Father, he is broken. Do you not see? He… he is already without pride, all his words and bluster nothing more than the desperate actions of one without defense, without regard for himself. He… he broke into sobs because I tried giving him water Father. Because I forced it on him and he could say no not even to that. He had not even that choice. Your refusal to go to him will only worsen his belief that you do not love him."

Odin paused, lips pulling down severely.

"… You question my love for my son?" He asked after a moment.

And Thor shook his head.

"No Father. I do not. But he does. He thinks you hate him."

"I do not." Odin insisted. "I love Loki as I would any child of mine."

"Then tell him so!" Thor snapped. "Go to him and explain yourself, and give him too the chance to be heard!"

"I cannot Thor." Odin replied. "To do so would imply forgiveness, and as yet, he has not earned such. Your visit to him would imply much the same, and so I forbid you to do so again. You will stay away from Loki Thor, until I deem it appropriate otherwise, and he will remain chained to the stone in the towns square through tomorrow evening, at which time he'll be taken to the dungeons below this palace until I can conjure an appropriate punishment for his many crimes. This is my final word and I will not hear otherwise."

Thor couldn't help the disbelieving expression across his face, his jaw held agape a moment as he stared back and up to the All-Father.

"Then you make a grave error." He at last said, voice falling low and flat. "This decision will only wrought ruin for all of us, Loki the same as we."

And before Odin could speak, Thor had turned on his heel, heading with a purposeful stride from the room, vanishing from sight out the door.

/

By the time he had reached Loki's chambers, Thor was near to uncontrollably mad, his hands clenching and unclenching in balled fists, fingers twitching to retrieve Mjolnir and unleash a swath of destruction upon his surroundings, tempered only when he stepped through the doors of Loki's bed chamber, his eyes falling over the immaculately kept space.

And at once, Thor's rage was replaced by a sinking sadness, and he felt himself crushed down by the depression of his thoughts, what seemed beautiful memories, made bitter by the circumstances of the present.

Loki had always been so neat… so clean…

Thor remembered, ever since they had been children together. When they had shared a room in their youngest years, Loki had always insisted on dividing the space up between them, and he felt a small twitch of his lips upwards as he recalled Loki's voice, telling him in exasperation…

"You make such a mess of things Thor! Our room is near to uninhabitable, and certainly not presentable, the way you leave your things strewn all about! You should take more pride in the appearance of yourself and your surroundings!"

Though Loki had tried keeping his side of the room clean, Thor had always somehow managed to wreck it in one way or another, much to the younger boys chagrin.

When the time had come they'd finally been given separate quarters, Loki had taken time each day to go over his room in painstaking detail, making sure everything was just so, just how he wanted it, and Thor remembered too how flustered his little brother would become each time he invited himself in without Loki's consent.

Thor had thought it humorous then, how upset Loki would grow, thinking nothing serious of it, only his brother being over-sensitive and seizing the opportunity to cry about something else…

He frowned, eyes flitting to the floor, frame tensing.

He'd treated most every instant of Loki's vocalized unhappiness with much the same attitude, now that he thought on it. Disregarding it as nothing more than a kind of joke, or frivolous displeasure. He'd never thought…

How unhappy had Loki been? For how many years had he been plagued by discontent and suffering?

Thor's frown deepened when it flashed through his mind, so long ago, when Loki had stopped complaining of anything. When there had come over him some seemingly sudden and dramatic shift, and he had… he had gone into himself, and grown more quiet than what had ever been normal for him before.

Where at first, Loki's face had held all of the raw emotion of his insides, and then one day, there seemed in its place a blank and stoic visage, giving nothing away, revealing nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

When had that happened? When had Loki stopped talking to him? Stopped sharing with him everything? As they had when they were children, and there were no secretes between them.

When had Loki stopped thinking he could talk to Thor, and Thor would understand. Or if he didn't, because Thor knew that so often, he wasn't able to grasp the complexity of Loki's thoughts and emotions, he in the least would be there to support his little brother, and help him in any way he could.

When had Loki forgotten that?

Why had he forgotten that?

Thor shifted, stepping slowly to Loki's bed, gaze falling over the size of it, noticing how small it was.

And his frown deepened.

His own bed was large, big enough to fit several people, if he so wanted. Loki's… Loki's had only ever been large enough to at the most fit a second person, and that even would have been a tight fit.

He'd had the option, of course, to have a larger place of rest, but he'd never exercised it, and it occurred suddenly to Thor how very rare it was his little brother had ever had anyone besides himself invited into his chambers.

… How rare even… he couldn't remember a single instant it seemed, when Loki had even invited a woman to share his bed.

Thor's own rooms were visited upon every day, by friends and family and, he wasn't near modest enough to deny a bevy of Asgard's most beautiful maidens on a fairly regular interval.

Loki was different.

That had always been more than obvious, even in Thor's sometimes less than observant mind.

But he'd never thought on the isolation of that difference.

He sank down, sitting upon the bed, the firm mattress giving under his great weight, and deeper still did his frown pull, memories of before again filling his thoughts, of when Loki had been a child so small he absolutely dwarfed in comparison to others his own age, never mind the children older than him.

Thor recalled how protective he had been of his brother then, how he would hardly leave his side for a moment, and how then, Loki hadn't left his either. How he'd used to trail along behind Thor wherever he went, or hold to his hand as though to let go would surely be the end of him.

How he would imitate him too, taking up sticks and wooden swords, often too heavy for his slight strength at the time, waving them around clumsily in an attempt to duplicate his older brothers earliest weapons training.

Loki had been so undersized and frail, Thor remembered, that he hadn't been allowed to begin any of his own until well after most children his age did, and he remembered too Loki holding tight to him during those years, and often crying near inconsolably against his chest, asking why he wasn't allowed to join in with the rest of the warriors, and Thor had explained to him it was because he was too small, too weak, and Father and Mother and the teachers feared he would be hurt, and Loki would only sob harder.

Loki had been sensitive, always driven quickly to tears as a boy. And Thor's clumsy words had done little to ease his dismay then.

It had always confused the older prince, why Loki was the way he was. Why he seemed so easily frightened, why he was always so scared.

Even when they'd grown old enough to have their own chambers, it was for many years Loki would still come to Thor's rooms in the dead of night, pushing open his doors and padding quietly to Thor's bed, climbing up into it with him and shaking him awake. Thor would often come out of his slumber bleary eyed to find Loki staring down at him, tears streaking down his pale cheeks, eyes wide and glistening, even in the dark, and he would cry helplessly that he'd had a nightmare, a terrible dream and he didn't want to be alone.

Thor would ask him what he'd dreamed of, and Loki would usually just shake his head and cling to him desperately, muttering something about fire and destruction and death, and about himself being there, being the one who…

He never could finish his words then, dissolving into greater sobbing, and Thor wondered at what could cause such a little child to have such morbid and threatening thoughts.

And it was these thoughts now which filled his mind as he lay over against his side, letting his head rest against the pillow of Loki's bed, letting his eyes drift shut.

Dreams filling his own head of Loki's darkness, and how even as a boy, he'd seemed to know before any of them what blackness he was fated to fall into.

How once it had upset him so…

And Thor wondered if still it did…

If still it frightened him as once it did…

/

He woke with a start at the sound of the doors banging open, his hand immediately calling Mjolnir to it, sitting up like a rocket, eyes wide and ready for attack.

All he was met with was a palace guard, breathing heavily and looking flustered, sucking for air as he began in a rambling voice to address the crown prince.

"My lord, your brother…" he gasped.

And immediately Thor stood, striding towards him.

"What of my brother?" He demanded, a feeling of unwanted panic blooming within his chest.

"My lord, he has… he has escaped!" The man continued to struggle for breath. "When one of our men went earlier to check on him, his… his muzzle had been removed and, his words of magic, he must have… must have spoken them to free himself from his binds. None of us… none of us know how the muzzle came to be freed but the Allfather my lord, he is… he is furious and…"

He wasn't given a chance to finish his sentence as Thor blew past him, marching out into the hallway, a sickening dread already building up from the pit of his stomach, gripping his insides with unrelenting pressure.

Outside was chaos, guards and servants running almost madly about the palace, frantic and fevered and filled with seeming fear, the higher ranked officers shouting orders to their men, instructing them to spread out and search the grounds, to leave no place unchecked.

Other gods stood with equally unsettled expressions, the cacophony of their worried rambling filling up the space, words of horror and uncertainty, sureness that the once prince was that very instant planning the doom of them all, that he would reign fire and death upon the kingdom in his jealous and bitter rage.

Thor felt light headed, his own kind of rage filling him as he moved forward, grip tightening around the hilt of his hammer, face settling into a grim expression.

"Loki, no…" he thought to himself, making his way towards the thrown room. "what have you done?"

/

It was hours later when finally he found him.

And still he didn't know how.

Only that he'd felt a strange pull, a sense abruptly upon him of where Loki would be, and if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he heard a sort of voice filling his head, coaxing him to the place, leading him there.

The palace was still in utter disarray, Odin's men having since spread out to search the grounds surrounding it, given the express command by their king to find Loki and bring him back, unharmed if possible, but if not, to do whatever necessary short of ending his life.

Thor had readily and without fear admitted to his father that it had been him who had removed Loki's gag, explaining that his brother had started to throw up, and he'd had no choice. But Odin had nonetheless been incensed, admonishing Thor for his carelessness and foolery, blaming him for Loki's escape. And Thor really hadn't had an argument against it.

Loki himself had warned him against conversing with him.

It only served to sadden Thor further, when Loki seemed lately time and again to make a concerted effort of proving just how untrustworthy he was. Almost like he needed those around him to believe it.

Thor had promised Odin he would find his brother and bring him back, no matter how far he had gone to, or where. And Odin had warned him failure was no option regarding the task.

As it turned out, he hadn't needed to go far at all, coming to this covering near the edge of the woods surrounding the city, spotting his little brother sat down along the bank of a large pond, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped round his legs, staring into the still water.

His back had been to Thor when he saw him, still bare from his earlier flogging, and the thunder god cringed upon seeing the lacerations across his pale skin, still fresh and bleeding. And a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at Loki, sitting motionless there.

He looked so small to Thor.

Just as he'd determined to step forward and address his brother, he was interrupted by Loki's soft voice.

"Do you remember this place?" He asked.

And it occurred suddenly to the elder prince that Loki had been aware of his being there the whole time, and it dawned on him clearer still that maybe that pull he'd felt earlier, what he'd thought was a voice in his head, had been Loki, reaching out to him with his magic and influencing his mind.

"Loki…" he began, stepping closer cautiously, as though afraid he might scare his brother off if he approached too quickly.

"We used to come here as children, you and I." He went on, as though he hadn't heard Thor. "We would come here to play, to wallow in this very pond." He gestured delicately towards the water. "Or play hide and seek among the trees." He waved a hand to indicate the surrounding alcove.

"Loki, the entire palace is looking for you." Thor stepped nearer. "Father is furious. He's ordered his men to bring you back, under force if necessary."

Loki didn't react to any of Thor's words, continuing on.

"And do you remember Thor…" he went on. "do you remember how I used to read to you here?" Finally he looked back, over his shoulder and up at the older god. "You would sit propped against that stump there," he indicated the spot. "and I would read to you tales of the great Aesir warriors of centuries past. Or of the other realms of the world tree. And you would be so engrossed Thor, you would be so captivated, you nearly each time forgot yourself and your surroundings. Falling into almost a trance. Do you remember? Remember how I read to you? And it was maybe the only time I ever felt in a way I was serving as your guide, instead of you me. That I was able to impress you in some way, because you enjoyed the sound of my voice, the way I would express the words…"

His voice trailed off, his eyes seeming to shine brightly in the shade of the place, brow furring heavy before abruptly he turned away, casting his gaze back upon the water, falling silent.

Thor watched him a long moment.

He did remember.

Now that he looked about. He did remember this place.

But they hadn't come here in so many years, he'd forgotten about it entirely, not thinking it a highlight among his and Loki's many youthful treks.

And especially he remembered…

"I would ask you." He said, stepping again closer, slowly lowering himself until he was kneeling on the balls of his feet, just behind his brother. "I would come to your room and beg you to read to me all the time, because you were so talented with words. You had a way of making even the most basic of literature sound impressive and important."

Loki said nothing, eyes still fixed ahead.

"But I liked it most when you would make tales of your own and tell them to me." Thor went on. "I was always astonished at your prowess for story telling. And the creativity of your mind."

He glanced to the younger prince, noticing the sly smirk which had crossed his lips.

"Yes, well…" he said suddenly. "I suppose that is a more fond way of remembering my talent for fabrication. I fear you were the only one to deem any merit in the skill. All others grew distrustful of one so deft with… imagination." His smirk grew slightly, though the smile failed to reach his eyes.

Thor frowned, looking away.

He recalled how the other gods had often asked Loki to entertain the court with his magic and stories, soliciting his talents most every day for their amusement.

He also recalled how afterwards, he would often overhear their less than flattering words regarding his little brother, whispering amongst themselves about what a "good little liar he was", regarding his magic as nothing more than a "neat trick", though really without use for anything more serious than performance art.

Thor remembered hoping Loki didn't know of what people said, didn't hear it like he did.

But he always knew that Loki did.

Because Loki was always aware of everything.

A long moment past in silence, before Thor sighed heavily, settling back onto his bottom and hooking his arms around his knees, mimicking Loki.

"… I have to take you back Loki." He spoke quietly. "You've gotten everyone worked up again, thinking you've escaped to wreak revenge upon them all. Your being free from your bonds is making them very nervous."

This drew a soft chuckle from the younger prince.

"Well it's nice to know myself still capable of inspiring fear." He said. "But I'm afraid their worry is without cause. The binds drained me of a good deal of my magic, as did the whip, laced as it was with enchantment. It would be days yet before my energy could begin to replenish itself to any affect. As it is…" he held his hand out over the water in front of him. "I'm relegated now to nothing much more than illusion."

Thor watched as the water seemed suddenly to spring to life, rising up from the surface, beginning to form an image.

And his eyes grew wide at the shape it began to assume.

Two boys, one tall and broad with blonde hair, the other shorter and slight, his coloring dark, both smiling widely, both laughing as they played together in a place which looked just as here.

"… That's…" Thor began, trailing off.

Loki said nothing, only nodding in reply as he maintained the small spell, eyes as equally transfixed as Thor's on the scene.

And for a time, the two of them just sat like that, watching themselves as children, seeing their faces lit with happiness.

Until after a while, the image flickered, and then abruptly faded into nothing.

Thor turned, looking to his brother, seeing his hand held above the water, trembling, before a moment later he pulled it back, holding it over his face as he turned away.

And Thor saw then the deep shutter through the rest of his frame, and the barely audible sound of his repressed sob as he clamped his other hand across his mouth, his shoulders hunching as he curled into himself, as though that might hide his distress.

For a moment, the elder prince began to reach his hand out towards him, wanting to comfort him. But then he pulled short, fingers freezing inches away, realizing he would only make it worse, would only embarrass his brother by doing so.

And so instead he looked away, giving Loki his privacy, hoping desperately it was the right thing to do.

Several minutes past, Thor fighting not to move, to say or do anything as he listened to his little brother struggling not to cry.

Only after a long while could he hear Loki's breathing finally begin to calm, and he dared to look back to him, seeing him sitting, slumped, his hands held limply at his sides now, reddened eyes fixed blankly ahead, back to the water again.

Thor let a few minutes longer pass in silence then, giving his brother time more to collect himself before finally he reached out, resting a giant hand gently upon the smaller gods shoulder.

"Come Loki," he said softly. "we should return to the palace."

And Loki said nothing, giving no struggle as Thor pushed himself to his feet, hooking his hands underneath his brothers arms and lifting him up with him, letting Thor wrap an arm around his shoulders to hold him steady.

And if Loki leaned into Thor as they walked from the forest, if he clung back to him with trembling hands and buried his face against Thor's shoulder, Thor said nothing of it, he made no remark.

Because he knew his little brother would be embarrassed if he did.

And Thor was beginning to understand that sometimes it was best to let things be as they may.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all of my readers and reviewers! You've all been a huge support and I appreciate it more than you know. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love to hear what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

It was the moment they reached the palace they were descended upon by a torrent of guards, reaching forward and tearing Loki from Thor's grasp, pulling him away from the elder prince violently.

Thor protests viciously, already incensed and disgusted from the taunts his brother had had to endure on their way through the city. Never before had Thor felt so ashamed of his people, to call himself as among their group.

If for all these centuries they had been whispering and gossiping about Loki behind his back, they held no qualms now in making their feelings known to his face, their blatant disrespect nothing short of obscene and sickening.

"Take care how you speak to a prince of Asgard!" Thor had bellowed at them, holding an unresponsive Loki tight against him.

And only had he been met with their further derision, screams from the gathering throngs that Loki was no prince. That he was an abomination and a traitor, a Jotun monster not fit to stand among the Aesir, deserving of naught but their scorn.

Thor had been aghast, yelling at them to stay back as he hurried Loki through, pressing his lips close to his brothers head and begging him not to listen.

Loki had given no indication either way whether he heard or cared over the things they said, but Thor knew… he knew how affected the younger god was by words.

He knew now better than ever.

"No!" Thor cries as they rip Loki away, reaching out to take hold of his brother once more, only to be blocked by a cross section of spears.

His eyes grow large as he watches them handle him with rough hands, forcing him with too little effort to his knees, beginning to wrench his arms behind his back.

"He is in need of the healing chambers!" Thor continues to shout. "He is in no condition to fight. You needn't be so coarse with him!"

Again he steps forward, eyes set on his brother, Loki's face without expression as he allows himself without struggle to be pushed and pulled and pressed down, to be maneuvered like some puppet.

"Can you not see?" Thor goes on, snapping his gaze back to the guards. "He gives no resistance! Be not so rough in your manner!"

"He is a prisoner…" one of them begins.

"He is a prince!" Thor shoots, cutting him short. "And you will treat him as such!"

"Thor…"

His tirade is halted as he hears, finally, Loki's voice, his eyes going immediately to his brother, seeing him looking back.

And Loki shakes his head.

The thunder gods mouth hangs agape, still a moment, uncertain of his brothers gesture, before he makes to speak again, only once more to be stopped by the resounding echo of Odin's staff, making blunt contact with the floor, halting the motion of everyone within the space.

"Father…" Thor begins after a moment of stunned quiet. "Father, explain to them, Loki is in need of the healers and rest, he cannot…"

"Silence!" Odin's voice booms, cutting his off, and Thor sees his one eye fixed on the younger prince.

Loki, who Thor then sees doesn't look back. Who Thor sees has his gaze trained on the floor as though absorbed by something there none of the rest of them can even begin to notice.

His frame is tense and drawn in hard, straight lines, rigid as stone, and looking closer, Thor can also see the very slight tremor which runs through his thin body.

He's scared. And Thor feels sick.

Odin moves towards him, stopping just feet away, towering over his youngest, staring down at him without words a long moment.

"Where did you find him?" He finally asks, the question directed at Thor, though his eye never leaves Loki.

Loki still hasn't looked up.

Hasn't moved.

"… At the edge of the surrounding woods." Thor answers after some seconds. "in a place of our youth. He wasn't trying to escape, he…"

"He used his sorcery in defiance of this kingdoms law. His intention in its use is without relevance." Odin says, and Thor falls silent, mouth pulling into a frown.

What seems minutes go by then without words, the tension in the air palpable all around, Odin's gaze still locked on Loki in uncomfortable scrutiny, until at last he lets go a long sigh, turning from the second prince, hand reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

"I am too old for this." He says, pausing a moment. "… Your actions bring shame Loki, and I grow more wary by the day with them. Can you never allow things to be as they are?"

And finally it is Loki looks up, and Thor sees again in his eyes the rage which he'd glimpsed on Midgard, and before that, on the Rainbow bridge.

The absolute fury.

Gone is his fear, his submission, and the elder prince feels a nauseating lurch in the pit of his stomach at the sight of it.

For a moment, Loki says nothing, does nothing, the muscles of his face seeming to struggle, lurching from one expression to another as though unsure of what their wearer is feeling, his jaw working as though the words are frozen in his mouth and he is fighting with everything he has to expel them.

And very suddenly then, his eyes are filling, shining with tears which refuse to fall, and his visage hardens, finally decided upon the meanness it wishes to convey, and his words come, sharp and cutting and ripping, and eerily calm, with all the articulation and quickness which earned him his title silvertongue.

And it is then Thor knows how deeply Odin's words have cut…

"I bring you shame?" He asks, eyes never leaving the Allfather. "My actions do your pride harm? Bring humiliation and unease upon the name of this house?"

Odin turns, glaring at Loki, saying nothing.

"Do you hate me so?" Loki asks. "Am I so undesirable to you? So unwanted?"

Still, Odin says nothing.

"So grand a disappointment? A stolen son failing so absolutely in your expectation you begin to feel the age of your millennia?"

Further silence.

"Or perhaps it is that you had no expectation at all, and find yourself only mortified by the great mistake of your too long life? Realizing it only after the time has become far too late to amend your foolhardy endeavor? And so you've suffered the embarrassment of my failure and monstrosity upon your name for a thousand years for your inability to think your way out. Oh, great and wise king, why did you not just kill me when you had the chance? Would that not have been a fitting and quick solution to your shame?"

And still, Odin says nothing, only watching Loki in stoic silence.

Loki's teeth bare in a snarl, and abruptly he lurches forward, seeming not to notice or to care, the way he is pulled back and crushed to his knees again by the guards.

And when he again speaks, his voice has lost its ease, and he is screaming, and the tears have lost their hold and are streaming down his pale and hollow cheeks.

"You do me harm Allfather!" He cries, all desperation and despair. "You have done me harm all these years! You shame ME!"

Again he pushes forward, and again he's pulled back down, tears thicker, faster down his face.

"You SHAME ME!" He cries again. "I thought you such a great man! I thought you the greatest of all men! And yet you prove yourself nothing but a liar and a coward Odin!"

A half choked laugh tears from Loki's lips, half sob.

"The Aesir are wrong to doubt my likeness to you then, yes?" He goes on, grinning madly. "They are wrong. All my tricks, all my treachery, I learned from you! All my cunning selfishness! Oh, you shame me Allfather! For I had judged myself beneath the shadow of your excellence. I had believed myself so much lesser than you, and hated myself for the perfection in you I never could reach. Which Thor took strides towards each day without impediment and I struggled so tirelessly to keep pace with! Oh, all the wasted centuries my king! Wanting to be something in you which never existed. To be as someone who never existed!"

"That is ENOUGH!" Odin finally shouts, and Loki, despite his overwhelming rage, can't stop himself from flinching, can't stop his eyes from falling to the floor.

"I will hear no more of this insolence from you!" The Allfather goes on, voice loud and unforgiving. "You have caused enough disruption this day, enough chaos, and there will be no more!"

He motions suddenly to one of the men, standing back from those restraining Loki, and the guard nods, stepping forward, holding in his hands the earlier removed gag.

Thor's eyes widen.

"Father, you can't mean to…" he begins to protest, looking to the Allfather.

But Odin only holds up a hand to silence him, keeping his watch on the guard as he bends beside his youngest son, readying the mouth piece.

Loki doesn't struggle, remaining still now, eyes still wet with tears, and Thor steps forward, urgent and dismayed.

"Father, this is cruelty!" He nearly begs. "You cannot leave him bound in such a contraption! He cannot even…"

"No, you are right Thor." Again Odin cuts him short, moving his gaze to him. "We cannot rely on the device to keep him silent, easily removable as it is. It is only a temporary solution." His eyes fix back on Loki. "Tomorrow he will be given a draught, and following his lips will be sewn together, to avoid any more incidents like the one this morning."

His voice is calm and cold as he says it, evenly paced, but neither of the two princes can keep the shock from their faces then.

A moment of tense silence follows, before Loki forces his features into unresponsiveness, his expression going flat.

Thor is unable to do the same.

"Father, no…" he starts, stepping towards the elder god, and he can't keep the waver from his voice, unwanted memories crashing relentless through his mind, consuming guilt taking him at once.

Loki says nothing, his eyes only fixing on the man he once thought to be his father, features betraying nothing of the unease and sickness blooming abruptly in the pit of his stomach.

He fights to show nothing at all.

Until finally his eyes fall away.

And now it is Thor who loses his composure as Odin looks tiredly to him, waiting.

"Father, please!" The thunder god entreats. "Please, do not do this to him. Do not. It is not right."

"As it was not right half a millennia ago, when you held your brother down and let Brokk thread the needle through his lips?" Odin shoots, voice ragged. "You thought nothing of it then Thor. And yet you judge upon me doling the same punishment for crimes far in excess of what he did then. Do not be a hypocrite boy. Loki is dangerous. His voice is a weapon and it must be taken from him until he learns to wield it with greater responsibility. Until he realizes the damage he can and has caused with it."

And it was for a moment, Thor pauses, jaw clamping shut as his mind goes blank.

For a moment, he cannot think of what to say.

Of how to say it.

His eyes turn to his brother. To Loki.

Sitting there still, unmoving, eyes still cast to the floor, arms twisted cruelly behind his back and pressed down onto his knees.

And Thor thinks… he thinks of all the times… all the many, so many times he wanted to say it. Had to say it. All the times the words had been there on his lips, waiting, just waiting to spring forth.

But damn and foolish pride had always gotten in their way.

Had robbed him of the ability to know how.

And how he'd loathed himself in those moments following, when he would turn from Loki and mutter "Nothing, it is nothing. Forget it." And Loki would watch him with half hopeful eyes, as though he'd known what it was Thor had been trying to do, and the desperate disappointment which would replace that hope when Thor would say nothing else, and the thunder god could no longer look in to his eyes for the shame of it.

Until he'd stopped trying altogether, pushing memories of the incident to the back of his mind, schooling himself to ignore it in the years following whenever it would rear itself to the front of his thoughts, the feel of Loki beneath his hands, struggling, struggling, struggling so weakly. The pitiful sound of his whimpering when the needle had pierced his flesh, and he'd convulsed with a trembling shutter before… before…

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Thor! Thor please! Please, I beg you!" Loki backed away a step, hands held up and out in supplication, shaking visibly.

His pupils had blown wide when he'd seen the elder gods intent, and damn him, he couldn't keep the terror from his face, from his wavering voice…

Thor's advancement didn't slow, his own features contorted in obvious rage, and again Loki stepped away, legs nearly giving out from how weak he suddenly felt.

"Thor…" he begged again.

"No Loki!" His brother seethed, cutting him off. "I will not let you continue to make a mockery of justice!"

"But I have not!" Loki cried, trying desperately to explain. "I have not! When has it become a crime to outthink your opponent?"

"ENOUGH!" Thor boomed, and in an instant, he had closed the distance between them, hands reaching out with his deceptive speed.

And Loki found no escape, seized by his brother and held fast, his eyes grew larger as Thor leaned close and hissed…

"Enough of your lies Loki!"

In an instant, the elder prince was pushing him down.

Loki fought.

He pushed and he pulled and he tore, trying to free himself from Thor's thick and relentless fingers, and shame burned his cheeks in how useless his efforts proved, in how easily his brother flattened him to the floor.

As though handling a mere child.

And Loki cried out, a pathetic keen as his eyes glimpsed Brokk coming towards them, thread and needle in hand.

His hands reached up, finding Thor's broad shoulders, pushing against them, moving him not an inch as the thunder god pressed a palm to Loki's chest, keeping him down, his other taking fierce hold of the younger princes jaw, stilling his thrashing head.

But still Loki struggled, heart hammering painfully beneath his ribcage, arms and legs kicking and waving in a vain attempt to throw his brother off him. His panic grew, bleeding to naked fear as Brokk stepped within their space and bent down to his knees.

And as the threaded needle drew near his lips, for a fleeting instant, Loki's gaze snapped back to Thor, and when he saw no mercy in the thunder gods eyes, for an instant more, he thought… he thought of unleashing his magic onto him. Of how easy it would be… so, so easy to blast him away as though nothing more than an irritating fly. Blast him back…

And cruel thoughts entered Loki's mind, destructive thoughts of humbling and humiliating his brother before all the court. Making a show of him, of how very weak he would be in the face of his magic. How all his great, physical prowess was as nothing in the shadow of his dark power.

Oh how easy, how easy it would be…

He could feel the tendrils of his energy, curling round his thin fingers, snaking its way across his palms, building, building…

He could just…

But no… no…

That wasn't right. It wasn't right.

He can't...

These vicious thoughts he has. This part of himself he keeps checked and smothered and buried, buried, buried where no one, no one can see, because if they did, they would hate him more than what they already do. They would cast him out and abandon him to nowhere. And Loki has no other place, no other home, and he can't lose this one. He can't, he can't, he can't, because it's all he has, and he doesn't want to be alone. Oh gods, he doesn't…

And he thinks, as the needle gleams in the periphery of his vision, he thinks about why he's like this thing he is. He wonders at what wretch he is. Wonders at this deformed and twisted thing he is amongst the perfection of the gods around him.

Oh why, why, why am I this way?

Everything stills, and then there is pain.

White hot, flaring agony through the whole of his face, and the scream dies on his lips, coming out a startled whimper as his body trembles violently and tears fill his eyes, scorching down his cheeks.

And all the strength goes out of him, whatever little strength he had, and he falls limp, he falls empty.

And he doesn't know why Thor is still holding him so tightly. He doesn't know why Thor's hands are still hurting him like this, bruising him where his fingers curl and press. Because he isn't fighting anymore. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He doesn't want anything but for Thor to let him go. Let him go, let him go, let him go, please.

Please Thor, let me go.

The words I'm sorry pass through his brain, and he thinks to say them, to speak them to his brother, to tell him he's sorry for being this terrible way he is.

But when he goes to part his lips and let the words fall from them, they won't come open. They won't move. And his eyes widen in horror as he feels Thor's grip at last loosen, and Brokk standing from where he knelt.

And he can't open his mouth. He can't speak. He can't speak.

He can't say anything at all.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Thor remembers the way Loki had laid still for nearly a full minute after he'd released him, the way he hadn't moved from the spot, eyes staring wide and unblinking up at the ceiling, shining with tears as blood flowed free and grotesquely down his chin and the sides of his face.

How after a time his little brother had finally rolled over, struggling to his knees and elbows, hand coming up, covering his bleeding mouth, remaining that way for a long while more, chest heaving up and down in quick, shallow breaths, as though he weren't getting enough air.

And Thor remembers too… he remembers too how the gathered people had stared in shocked silence for those tense moments, eyes fixed on Loki in morbid fascination. How they'd stared that way, the silence stretching in unbearable length, before laughter shattered the air, a man near the back, unseen, and how it was quickly to follow a domino affect, a wave of hysteria washing over the court, until near every man, woman and child were roaring with mirth, the sound cacophonous and overwhelming, seeming to shake the very foundations of the marble floor.

Laughing at Loki.

And Thor remembers with sickening guilt Loki's expression. How his brother had looked up and around him, fresh tears filling his eyes and streaming down his face, his gaze flitting around the court, features lined in some unspeakable pain, something deeper than the physical injury he had sustained, before abruptly he had shot to his feet, stumbling forward and falling again to his knees, drawing more and louder laughter from the crowd as he struggled to right himself again.

Loki had run. He'd run away from all of them, pushing past the throngs, his hands held to his mouth, blood seeping from between his fingers.

Ran out of the room, disappearing from their sight.

It had been weeks before Thor had seen his brother again after that. Where he had gone, the elder prince had never known, and he'd never had the courage to ask. He knew only that Loki had somehow ripped the stitches from his lips, and in their place had been left terrible scarring, marring his once beautifully flawless and porcelain skin.

Over the years, Loki had taken to covering the scars with a spell of glamour. Thor thought in an attempt to make people forget the incident.

Maybe to make himself forget.

Loki had never spoken of it. Not once. Not a single time in the hundreds of years since it had happened.

He'd never made mention of it.

And perhaps what had unnerved Thor most of all, what had made his guilt eat away at his insides with unrelenting and merciless pressure, had been how Loki had failed to treat him any differently from what he ever had before. How Loki had continued to address and regard him the same. Engaging with him without apparent fear or hesitation, without any hint of hurt or even anger.

As though nothing had happened at all.

And when whispers of it would pass between the lips of the other Aesir before him, Loki would give no indication at all that he had heard them.

But Thor knew that he had.

How many times had he wanted to say it, but never could? How close had he come, how many times? How many times he should have.

Thor's eyes fix on Loki now, sitting still and silent and so horribly resigned. He will not fight Odin's judgment. He will not struggle this time.

Thor feels his insides break.

He steps forward, towards his little brother. No one tries to stop him.

Sinks down before him on his knees.

Hand reaching out, grasping the younger prince behind the head, cupping the nap of his neck as he leans his forehead to his.

His eyes close, pressing back tears.

And he whispers to him, only for him…

"Loki, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

How many times he should have said it before…


End file.
